Here Goes
by surfer4grits
Summary: So many tears. So many scars. We all have them. Inside or out. Most of the time both. HermioneFleur.
1. Pain

Here Goes

**Summary: **So many tears. So many scars. We all have them. Inside and out. Most of the time both. Hermione/Fleur.  
**Rating: **M to be safe  
**A/N: **Okay, a new attempt at story formatting. Inspired in part by some books I've been reading that have this first-person point of view without paragraphs or anything. Let me know if you like it. I do.

Chapter One: Pain  
(Hermione's POV)

He remembers. Tonight, I can tell he recalls everything. Ron just stands there, beside the bed, a firm look of pain playing on his once boyish features.  
The drugs don't help him anymore. They were what took Ginny away.  
Alcohol didn't save him anymore. It drove his mother and him apart after the twin's death.  
I can't help him anymore. He's forgotten love, and I've fallen out of it.  
Nothing can drive Ron's mind away from Harry's disappearance and Bill's recent death.  
"I'm leaving tonight, 'Mione." He wants to smile sympathetically, but the pain won't allow smiles. It's the rules. And if you break the rules, you die.  
I feel his arms enclose around my slender waist and close my eyes. "Be careful." He nods against my shoulder. With a breath, he murmurs, "I'm sorry we didn't work out."  
I'm sorry too. "During war, it's inevitable." Ron's eyes waver and he releases me. "Right." His heavy leather trench coat covers his limp somewhat, but I know it's there. Ron turns at the door.  
"Oh yeah. Fleur's in town, but since I'm going, is it alright if she comes here?" My mouth falls at his forwardness, and yet, it's not surprising. "I thought she and Bill were over before-"  
"They were. She just wanted to see if she could help with the Order. I was going to take her there. I walk to the door knowingly.  
"I'll get here there." Ron draws his wand as he pulls the heavy mahogany to him. "I'll send her an owl. Thanks."  
He's gone. Fleur's coming.

* * *

(Ron's POV)

I stop at the pub before taking the Portkey to London. That's where I'm supposed to start investigating.

Like I haven't been looking for Harry the last six weeks.

But this is different. Risky, they said. Living is risky these days. I enter the pub, hoping that strangers don't notice me. My limp from an Avada Kedavra backfire. The Avada Kedavra that killed Bill.  
God, the damn light. That pure, green flash that illuminated a second's pain. A life's pain in an instant.  
The light doesn't compare to any thing you've seen before. Especially not the lights in this place. The cheap colored lights that young wizards find glory in before drinking their ambitions to hell.

I should know.  
I should know.  
I should know to stop.

My fourth fire whiskey burns intensely against my throat as the liquid slides down. Both from the flames and the actual alcohol. I leave ten sickles and head out to the street.  
There's broken glass from some window in a store. I catch my reflection.  
Rough. Haggard. Shitty.  
Scars etch wrinkles on my 22 year old face, framed by cropped auburn hair. My eyes are a dismal grey-blue, like the tears washed out their once vibrant sapphire color.

So many tears.

So many scars.

We all have them. Inside or out. Most of the time both.


	2. It'll Be Different With Me

Chapter Two: It'll Be Different With Me  
(Hermione's POV)

She walks inside my flat, more beautiful than I remember.  
More than I ever could believe. She speaks. "Hermione. How are you?"  
Her accent is much better too. The annoying French lilt has subsided to something quite elegant. Do most veelas grow more gorgeous with age? I don't remember- I can't recall anything in my books.  
My stupid books that hid me from the fucking war and the pain of everyone but me.

I want to cry.

I want to cry and all she's done is say hi. "Okay, Fleur. You?" Damn this war.  
"Ah, _mon dieu_, fair. I have seen better days." I nod and notice her single black bag. Designer. It must weigh a ton judging from its size. I offer to take it from her.  
"Thank you." Her cloak falls from her shoulders and reveals her simple attire. An ironed oxford shit. Faded blue jeans. The only valuable item on her is a diamond ring.  
"You want to help the Order?" I'm rather blunt as I pour her tea. Her blonde hair flows as she takes the cup from me.  
"If there's work to be done."  
"I'm sure there is."  
Ron was the last young Order member. Young able member, rather. All I do is research.  
The tea is hot, accentuating my discomfort. Fleur, a woman I long forgot, was here. A woman that always intrigued my interest, but I never pursued out of fear.  
"Why did you and Bill split up?" It slips out of my mouth before I can stop the clumsy, awkward words from tumbling off my tongue. She smiles with interest, and a musical laugh breaks our silence.

Smiling is against the rules.

Her smile is straight and white. Straight that has nothing to do with magic and white that is not the result of toothpaste.  
"That is a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?"  
"Yes." She tells a tale of a romance shattered by jealousy. Bill was convinced she was unfaithful. "I was monogamous until the end."

I believe her.

"I'm sorry." She frowns and finishes her tea. "Don't be. Did you ever have a relationship after Viktor?"  
"Viktor and I never…" I pause and go to the point. "Not really."  
"You and Ron?"  
"Just friends. I never wanted anything other than friendship from anyone. Or, never wanted anything clearly. Ties between friendship and romance blur for me." She laughs again, that fluttering laugh that brightens everything for a second before it subsides.

I like it.

"I'm sure it will be different one day." She gets up from my table and moves to go the room I cleaned for her.  
"What do you mean?"

"**It will be different with me**."

* * *

(Ron's POV)

I wake in a cold sweat.  
This isn't the first time I don't remember why I'm here.  
Oh yeah, Harry. That's why I'm here.  
My memory kicks in and I examine my surroundings. A tent, and from the noise, I think it's outside London. The Portkey sent me directly here.  
Not bad.  
My stomach is still in my throat from the Portkey.  
I hate those damn things.  
They're worse after alcohol.  
The lump of God-knows-what rises to my throat and I try to swallow it down forcefully.

Not hard enough.

The bile explodes onto everything. I mutter some cleaning spells and the mess is gone. The scent lingers.  
Like he lingers.

Harry.

Damn you. For everything.  
For leaving me to fight alone. You are my best friend, my strength. I can't fight without you.  
But I could throw every punch **for** you.  
Yeah, that sounds good.  
Every spell and hit is in your name until I find you.  
Until.  
Until.

Until we get you back.


End file.
